


What Is Left Unsaid

by lancesface



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Admissions of Feelings, Angst, Established John/Mary, Everything Hurts, Feels, Multi, One sided relationship, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lancesface/pseuds/lancesface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the day of John's and Mary's wedding. Sherlock slipped out for a smoke and Mycroft has a conversation with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd  
> Un-britpicked  
> All mistakes are mine.  
> Based off [this](http://shrlocksass.tumblr.com/post/74516818838/returnmysanity-au-where-mycroft-confronts/) tumblr post.  
> Please follow me [here](http://shrlocksass.tumblr.com/) on tumblr  
> All comments and kudos are welcome.  
> Also first time with this kind of story so let me know what you think.

Sherlock felt cramped and suffocated in the small church, with all of John's and Mary's guests milling about, making small talk before the service. He needed to escape, to clear his head of the mindless chatter and inane conversations that was taking place in the claustrophobic room.

Slipping his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket to grab his pack of cigarettes, Sherlock slipped out the back door of the chapel. No one would pay him any mind. John was busy worrying about the arrival of the limousine with his soon-to-be-wife and shaking off the metaphoric cold feet. Yes, he could have some time to himself to gather his wits. This battle was proving to be more difficult that he had originally thought. 

Exiting through the squeaky door Sherlock breathed in a lungful of cool air before lighting up and puffing a thick cloud of smoke at the sky, reveling in the blissful numb feeling as the nicotine pervaded Sherlock's body; relaxing his brain and loosening the pinched feeling beneath his ribs. It helped him forget. Forget the terrible mistake that he had allowed himself to make yet would make over and over again if time allowed. Yes, he thought, he would let himself fall wholeheartedly in love with John H. Watson everyday even if this was the constant result.

Sherlock sighed and blew out another ring of smoke, watching it hold its' form for a moment before being broken apart by a breath of wind through the air. 

There was the squeaking sound as the door behind Sherlock opened and another person joined him in the small area behind the building.

“Sherlock.” He groaned inwardly. Of all days for Mycroft to come and torture him with his boring small talk and political drivel this definitely the worst.

“Mycroft, to what do I owe this displeasure?” He attempted to coat the sentence with malice but his heart wasn’t truly in it so it just ended up sounding rude.

Ignoring Sherlock's comment Mycroft continued on, “Are you certain you should be smoking that? Mummy would be so displeased.” Sherlock narrowed his gaze at his sorry excuse for a brother. He was chastising him like he was a child and this was not what he needed at the moment.

“Me? Upset her? Please, Mycroft, if anything it is _your_ smoking habit that worries her. Do not fool yourself considering you have a few tucked away in your jacket as well,” Sherlock huffed. Mycroft smiled his smarmy smile at him before walking closer and producing a cigarette from the inside breast pocket of his perfectly tailored suit and lighting it with practiced ease.

After he had a few drags of the nicotine infused smoke Mycroft spoke again, in a softer tone than before, “ You are holding up well.” Sherlock bristled. He didn’t need Mycroft interfering with his personal life. Though it was his nature, this was too much of an emotion for even Mycroft to understand. Mycroft would not understand; he could never understand. Sherlock barely understood it himself besides the basics.

“Of course I am. I am fine.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him and he took another pull of the cigarette in his hand. Sherlock's had burnt down to the butt and he quickly dropped it to the dirt, ground it out with his foot, and brought out another. 

The two brothers stood in what one would call a companionable silence, finishing their cigarettes and allowing the nicotine to do its' job.

Eventually Mycroft stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby post and began to walk back towards the church door. Before he reentered the building, however, he paused, and spoke, “ I know you're in love with him Sherlock.” 

Sherlock gagged on the smoke he had been inhaling, the putrid smoke barreling down the wrong pipe and making him hack and choke.

Eye's watering from the coughing fit he was having Sherlock managed to choke out, “Lot of good it does me now.” Mycroft frowned.

“Sherlock, I have never seen such dynamic between two people. Take what what the Doctor gives you. This will pass.” Sherlock had managed to get his gag reflex under control and was staring at his brother.

“Mycroft, it pains me to say this, but you are right on almost every other occasion but, in this instant, you couldn’t be more wrong. You know me well enough to know that things that interest me in the beginning rarely last the week, yet John has surpassed all expectations I had of him. I do not think this shall pass. But I already know what I must do. I need none of your advice.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and turned his back to Mycroft who let out a sigh. “I lost my chance Mycroft. I left and he moved on. There is nothing to be done.” Sherlock was growing tired of this conversation. It was ripping up all the small bandages that had been placed 'just so' to conceal these feelings.

With a curt nod and exhale through his nose Mycroft turned and left, closing the door with with a satisfying click. Sherlock grit his teeth. This was all too much, this feeling of falling and falling and seeing no end. The sensation of losing your heart, the heart that, until four years ago, had been carefully locked away with precision and care. 

He huffed out a breath, watching as a cloud of condensation appeared before him and then disappeared just as quickly. God, what had John done to him? He had been a man of logic and thought before. He had been able to go through the trials of his life without the worry of emotions causing him to blunder. Now he was no better that the people he deduced everyday, and... he didn’t mind it. Sherlock's thought processes had not faltered and he mind palace was still immaculate. Nothing had changed even though everything had.

The part that was so debilitating was that the sentiment would never be reciprocated. He and John would always be best friends but they could never be just them. There would be Mary, and children, and anniversaries, and...dear god, Mrs. Hudson had been right. They were barely going to see each other anymore.

A sharp pain twisted uncomfortably in his gut. Sherlock was loosing John and there was absolutely nothing that he could do about it, nothing at all. He wanted to cry, he wanted to curl up around himself until all the pain went away, Sherlock just wanted everything to go back to being simple. Before Moriarty came along and forced Sherlock into the exile that cost him John. Of course it had also saved John. John had met someone who made him happy and kept him safe not Sherlock, who constantly put him in harm's way and had only recently realized how important he was.

Sherlock conceded. Mary was better for John than Sherlock was. She could handle him and take care of John. He needed to put John first. John was who he cared about so that was who he would try his best to please. 

Sherlock straightened up and flattened the lapels of his jacket, mind made up. He would do whatever he needed for John Watson. Sherlock strode to the door and pulled it open with another audible creak. He was the best man after all, couldn’t be late to the wedding. The door swung shut with an air finality. 

  
  


Fin 


End file.
